Real Life Christianity

I was nineteen and on a medically related leave of absence from Johns Hopkins University when I went to talk to my pastor in Florida. I had moved back home for the year and although I usually never visit my pastors at their office (sorry Pastor Russell and Pastor Dehm!), I felt compelled to do so this particular day.

A few months earlier, a friend I had grown up with in the church had stopped attending—almost unnoticeably. His father was a deacon and his mother was a greeter. His cousin was my sister’s best friend and two years earlier, he had been my date to senior prom.

“I’m worried about Jason,” I told my pastor.

It was well-known that Jason’s disinterest didn’t lie with God, as much as his feeling that he lacked an identity within the church. As youth, the two of us skirted the edges of the “in” youth crowd, not attending the same school as the majority or being invited to Saturday night social events. After graduation, though, I left Florida and found a place to belong at Miracle Temple. Jason didn’t.

“Is there any way that we can like, go and visit him?,” I offered in my uncertain young adult voice. “I mean, someone should do something, right?”

I expected my pastor to applaud my efforts and enthusiastically agree that yes, we should pay Jason a visit just to check on him and let him know the church family still cared. Instead, he uttered a statement that I never forgot.

“Well, Shayna,” he said firmly. “You can’t save them all.”

That was his advice? That we couldn’t save them all? And who exactly was “them?” The church members? The children of the church members who left as a result of a lackadaisical church body led by an unfeeling pastor?

I left his office discouraged and depressed.

I disagreed with his opinion then and I still do now. Just because the reality is that not every person on earth will be saved, it does NOT mean that at some point, Christians are supposed to abandon hope and stop trying. In fact, 2 Peter 3:12 suggests the opposite by saying that we “ought to live holy and godly lives” in order to “speed [the day of God’s] coming.”

According to Pastor David Newman’s sermon last week (at New Hope SDA), we actually have a role in the second coming of Christ through our evangelism. You can read or watch more here.

As we, at Miracle Temple, prepare to embark on a city-wide evangelistic campaign, it’s important to think about the role that we each have as individuals in hastening the second coming. It’s true that we will not be able to save everyone, but what about the one person that you will save? There are plenty more Jasons in the world just waiting.

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My mother waited until we were in the car to give me her real thoughts about my sermon. It had been my first time preaching at my home church in South Florida, and in the hallway amidst noisy and hungry parishioners lining up for potluck, she had merely declared that the sermon was “Great!” Now, it was time for the real confessional.

“You know that we always talk about the good things and the bad things,” she started.

I pushed the air conditioning button on as we pulled out of the church parking lot.

“So, your diction was very good…and your tone…”

This was the worst part of preaching in front of friends or family—hearing what they really thought about it afterwards. Especially having been raised by a high school English teacher, there were always considerations about vocabulary usage and pronunciation and depth of analysis. I was mentally disposing of her innocuous time fillers, waiting in anticipation for the criticism.

“You should have focused your sermon toward the youth.”

I may have fumbled out a mediocre defense, citing the fact that I had prayed about what topic to speak on and mentioning that I thought the message was universally important. Truth be told, though, I wasn’t exactly confident that I had said the right things.

I try not to second guess too much, but I always sort of wonder how effective the message really is. I sometimes edit out the “Amens” or verbal affirmations during the sermon and I question the sincerity of acknowledgments and praises afterward. I continuously replay my own actions and analyze them, not just when preaching, but in daily life. There’s always something that could have been said differently or done better, even in spite of my best intentions.

After an all night prayer meeting the week before in which unending stories of death, despair, and disappointment flowed from parishioners, I had ultimately decided that it was important to talk about why God takes us through periods of difficulty. I knew the subject matter was mature for a “youth speaker,” but I couldn’t shake the feeling that focusing on anything else would be watering down the message and doing the church a great disservice. So, I titled my sermon, “Leaving the Desert” and proceeded to expound upon how suffering factors into God’s plan for our life. I cited the importance of claiming the new year as an opportunity to start over and remembering that we do leave the desert eventually. But yes, I only briefly addressed my comments to the youth. And yes, I knew this.

I dismissed the experience as another life lesson learned and comforted myself with the knowledge that there is always an opportunity to do better next time. I returned to Maryland a week later and didn’t give any more thought to what I could have done differently.

Then, my mother called.

“I have to apologize to you,” she started. “I shouldn’t have told you that your sermon wasn’t geared enough toward the youth.”

An older member had asked for me on Sabbath and was disappointed to learn that I had already returned to Maryland, she said. Her son had left the church and despite the promptings of friends and family, hadn’t attended in years. When he asked his mother for directions to the church the evening before I was preaching, she didn’t even take him seriously. Instead, she hastily shoved a church bulletin into his hands and told him he could find the way himself.

“He said he was really impressed by the sermon. He’s even decided to come to church now!,” my mother told me. “Other people also told me the message moved them.”

I was shocked, but I shouldn’t have been.

When we pray for God to move someone’s heart, to give us the words to say, or even to use us as His vessels when we know that we are unworthy, He hears us. And, He answers us. Romans 8:28 reminds us of this by saying that all things work together for good for those who love the Lord. Also, Isaiah 51:16 reminds us that God Himself puts His words in our mouths. I have to remind myself often, but it doesn’t matter how good or bad we think the message sounds when it comes out. It only matters that we are saying it.

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